Date: Fri, 16 Jul 2004 15:43:30 -0700 (PDT)
From: Kevin
Subject: My Olympic Swimmer - 1
The following is true; only the name of northern
European country has been changed. Don't read it if
you are under eighteen or don't like stories about
guys fucking.
All the recent coverage of the Olympic swimming trials
reminds me of the1984 Olympic Games when I met the
most beautiful man I have ever seen even to this day.
I was 21, visiting LA for the summer between junior
and senior years in college, and staying in the large
house of some family friends. Their next door
neighbor was the Norwegian consulate, and one evening
we had a barbecue for the Norwegian National Swim
Team. And yes, they were very good looking. Perfect
graceful bodies and faces shining with the excitement
of the upcoming races, even the ugly ones were
beautiful.
One guy, in particular, stood out because he had the
same Nordic features as everyone else, except with
rich coffee colored skin and deep hazel eyes. When my
girlfriend and I were making out later, all she could
talk about was how striking that guy was, and how when
he smiled at her and said hello, she could hardly even
say hello back. As a skinny white guy with a dorky
afro, I pretended not to mind how long she went on
about him, and just enjoyed her increased ardor.
After the olympics were over, the lady of the house
told me that one of the swimmers was going to stay
with us for a few weeks while trying to look for
modeling work. When the day arrived and I answered
the door, of course it was that guy. He was so
unnervingly handsome, it took every shred of
self-respect I had to shake his hand and return a big
friendly smile without looking away. Luckily he hardly
spoke English, so small talk was not required. His
name was Christian.
Although we shared a bathroom that connected our
bedrooms, I didn't see Christian once in the first
few days. I heard him brushing his teeth after coming
in from very late parties, and then again early in the
morning when someone took him to work out at the USC
pool. Apparently swimming every single day, even when
burning the candle at both ends, is the key to
becoming an Olympic athlete. Our schedules were so
different that with my summer job, a new girlfriend
and an exciting new city, Christian wasn't a factor in
my life at all. That would soon change.
One night, around eleven, I was standing in front of
the bathroom mirror in my boxers, getting ready for
bed and examining a new zit when Christian came in
wearing a towel. He said hello, pointed at the shower
and asked if I minded. I shrugged no. The towel
fell. I politely turned back to the mirror and my
zit. The bathtub/shower alcove was directly behind
the sink,however, and how could I not catch the
occasional glimpse as he opened the shower curtain and
turned on the water? Body shaved completely hairless;
yards of unblemished skin the color of café au lait;
classical curve from muscular back, to tight small
buns, to enormous long thigh. There was a flash of
cock and a lifetime of swimming workouts culminated in
one perfect step into the tub. Humming tunelessly, he
closed the curtain.
And uncharacteristically like a schoolgirl waiting for
an autograph, I hung around. I took a leak. Examined
my zit a little bit. Flexed my nerd arms. Not from
the same planet as Christian, but at least I was tall
and had beautiful eyes. I brushed my teeth. Flossed
them one by one. Finally the shower turned off and
Christian opened the curtain. He asked me for a
towel. I passed it to him. This time self-respect
eluded me and I averted my eyes at his smile. I
turned back to the mirror and started flossing again.
I didn't have anything specific on my mind. It
certainly didn't occur to me that anything could
happen. But I couldn't help noticing that Christian's
cock, nested so beautifully on his balls when he got
in the shower, had woken up some in the washing.
He got out of the tub, let the towel fall on the floor
and stood right up next to me, looking at me in the
mirror. It was too intense and I leaned away a
little. His hand brushed my boxers, so lightly I
wondered if it was on purpose. Then he leaned over and
gave me an innocent peck on the cheek. I froze. What
was that? I literally had no idea what this could
possibly mean. My father was the only man who had ever
kissed me, and it sure as hell didn't feel like this.
I looked at him. I'm sure I looked shocked. He
looked right back. He kissed me on the lips. As he
pulled his face back, hooded eyes and half smile, I
suddenly knew exactly what to do.
I grabbed him around the small of his back and kissed
him, practically climbing up his leg. I kissed him so
explosively he staggered back and sat down hard on the
toilet seat. I climbed on top of him with my head
over him and tried simultaneously to jam my tongue all
the say into his body and suck his tongue deeply into
mine. Minutes flew by. We clawed at each other's
bodies. His now hard cock ground up against my boxers
and my own cock strained to escape. I wrapped my arms
all the way around his head, pulling his mouth even
deeper and closer to mine. We grunted like pigs after
truffles. I had never felt a hunger as consuming as
this, and knew that if our lips were to part I would
surely die.
More to come. Comments welcome.
studcitnooner@yahoo.com